


Shadow Mountain

by Beach_Glass



Category: Beach Glass's Fantasy Canon, Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Horror, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beach_Glass/pseuds/Beach_Glass
Summary: In the ancient region of Southenbeck lies the mysterious Shadow Mountain, an object of superstitious fascination for the locals and an attraction for outsiders near and far. A great disturbance has rocked the area - ghastly howling in the night and the lingering stench of death across the shady sands surrounding the mountain have driven locals from the area and lured many adventurers to their doom. A wanderer - an unorthodox type of explorer - has taken on a contract to investigate the incident along with the disappearance of a renowned scholar who was last seen in the area; little does he know there is something far more sinister at the heart of the events surrounding Shadow Mountain.





	Shadow Mountain

Shadow Mountain has loomed ominously just past the border of Southenbeck for some time, surrounded on all sides by inhospitable wastes, occupied only by what few fearsome forms of life that thrive in such harsh conditions. During the day, the scalding sun seems to reflect off the shimmering sands, casting strange shapes in the distance that, surely, are tricks of the light. At night, the land is canvased in an eerie, inky blackness; those foolish enough to dwell nearby and the many superstitious locals claim that the strange phenomenon of this “advanced darkness” is unique to the area – a legend that has brought many adventurers and other interested parties from all five corners of the continent to see for themselves, drawn by another mystery to solve, a new place to explore with new secrets to uncover and the ever-present promise of treasure.

For a time, the rumors of Shadow Mountain were enough to keep the rabble away from it – now and then some fool would wander out into the desert and get swallowed up by the sands or return empty-handed and more than willing to trade their trinkets for a few drops of water. It wasn’t until the disappearances became more violent that the locals and few local authorities puzzled out a very real threat – bandits, marauders; entire clans of undesirables had taken up residence in the desert, the mysticism and appeal of the uncanny appeal of the unnatural delivering countless innocents to their territory while the desert made quick work of any organized efforts into the area. When bodies began to turn up too horribly mangled to have fallen at human hands, the people of Southenbeck decided to intervene.

Superstition is the way of the land in Southenbeck, with the youngest children and the oldest elders all speaking of the endless oddities that seemed to haunt every corner of the area; anyone unfortunate enough to have lived their for the entire life and anyone lucky enough to see the sights will tell you that, without a doubt, some stones are best left unturned. Rumors spread across Southenbeck of a giant lumbering across the barren wastes near Shadow Mountain, delivering the people’s justice for them and leaving little more than red smears and jagged craters in its wake, drawn out of hiding by the clamor and commotion surrounding its home. Others swore that it was the snakes – dozens and dozens of snakes – writhing beneath the sands like so many ripples in the granular grandeur and eviscerating any ne’re-do-wells in their domain. For some, this was enough. For others, it was yet another reason to avoid the region. For one, who most would claim to be a man with others swearing she was a woman, it could never have been enough.

All of Southenbeck could tell you where they were when it happened. It started long after the darkness had advanced; a shadow deep enough to swallow the moonlight crept across the sands, followed by a deathly silence as the shadow stretched across the desert towards a singular destination. The flames of torches, and lamps flickered violently, as ifblown about by some foul, unearthly voice on the wind as all eyes were inexorably drawn towards the wastes. Low light can cause people to see such blasphemous things, but as the shadow passed through the towns and villages, over the rocks and the grass, rolled over the hills and washed across the desert sands, anyone could tell you what they meant. Death had come to Shadow Mountain.

In the following weeks, the area surrounding Shadow Mountain was abandoned as a heavy air of the unnatural filled the place with an ineffable sense of dread, even for the usual Southenbeck folk. Wildlife avoided it. The birds that had passed over the blasted heath did not return, and those what had not yet followed made altered their future trajectory. Travelers made the effort to travel around the area on instinct, and the locals had all but condemned the place, many of them diverting all efforts to put the events of that fateful night out of memory as soon as possible. Naturally, whispers of the great calamity reached the ears of treasure hunters near and far, rousing the occasional cult and warranting the standard investigation of scholars and church folk. Most of these outsiders wisely made the decision to search for answers as far away from the damnable mountain as their common sense would allow as local gossip grew significantly more convincing with each passing hour.

Cayman had come to Southenbeck on several occasions and was often welcomed as a regular among the various outposts scattered throughout the region. It struck him as odd that the innkeepers and local merchants had become so reluctant to speak with him when he knew so many of their names, having saved them much trouble from the never-ending stream of boars in the forests and their seemingly universal taste for beast pudding. When he finally managed to find a familiar face that would converse with him, he was shocked to hear that so many people had been in the area recently. He had known that some great thing had happened to displace so many residents from western Southenbeck, but did not pry; he did not thing he would be harmed, but with everyone on edge he did not wish to push his luck.

Many had come and gone through Southenbeck after the Death had passed, but Cayman was a wanderer; people with his disposition were compelled to travel the world to seek adventure, quell any local troubles and acquire an innumerable amount of trinkets and treasures to tuck away in some ever-shrinking storehouse. Having replaced many pieces of “unfathomably powerful” magical keepsakes with vastly superior, albeit less shiny simple bits and baubles, he had learned to take many things with a grain of salt. He had come across another wanderer in the hamlet of Yesseno, just east of and undoubtedly the closest to the leering face of Shadow Mountain; they knew each other by proxy and had cooperated more than once clearing out dungeons and hunting outlaws, but neither one could say much about the other. The most distinct thing about this acquaintance was a red bandanna he wrapped tightly around his face; while offering no protection and being practically worthless, it set the man apart.

Cayman left Yesseno with many locals believing this would be the last they’d ever see of him, as he’d surely join the corpses left behind by whatever horror had swept through the shady sands. The trek from Yesseno would’ve taken a determined party of four or five almost a day; Cayman had nearly reached the mountain’s foot in almost half the time. As he drew closer, he slowly understood why Shadow Mountain had earned its name – much of Southenbeck is notorious for a distinct warping of light and almost nonsensical geography to those with low perception, with Shadow Mountain having a more sinister illusion about it. The mountain itself reached high enough to block the sun during the day while the sands themselves had been warped and twisted to absorb whatever rays of light that managed to peek around any jagged edges. He tried not to let chilling, ominous winds blowing about the place tear through him as he ventured forth.

The desert was home to many things most people should not see and would not see if they kept to the right paths. It was home to a curious, foul breeze and a biting cold that should not be present in the daytime and a searing heat that bleached bones before any scavenger could finish picking the meat off. These things did not bother Cayman. What truly made his stomach churn, what made his blood turn to ice and what covered him in a fearful sweat was the calm of the mountain as he made his ascent. It was much too peaceful, despite the rumors, despite the Death that had come to it and despite the countless lives lost around it. He cast a look over his shoulder at a passing desert-thing; its burning eyes seemed to share his reservations as it disappeared behind a dune. He continued his climb, gritting his teeth as he heard a familiar chattering and a tell-tale, hollow tapping.

As he clamored over and onto the edge of the mountain’s face, Cayman was greeted to yet another rocky wall whose cracks and crevices he’d have to navigate in order to reach his destination – however, it was apparent he was not the first to make the long climb to the top. Scattered about were bags, satchels and other pieces of equipment deemed too cumbersome to slip through the narrow passage, left and waiting for a return that seemed evermore unlikely. There were bits of discarded armor and a few large weapons left about, some relatively pristine while others had been badly battered and beaten by the desert-things, all of which now served as a silent warning to others who dared approach the mountaintop. Cayman grimaced at the sight of several dark figures perched atop the rocks, tittering among themselves as a lesser member of the flock amused itself with a few rocks and well-shined breastplate. Beyond that was a small, barren tree – and pinned to that tree was something far too familiar.

A step toward the flock had every eye fall on him, save for the whelp and her rocks. The harpies hunkered together, stepping down from their perches as their heads bobbed about on their long, crooked necks. One spread its wings, flapping loudly while another growled as best a bird could; two more slowly swayed side to side, puffing themselves up as their black feathers stood on edge. A particularly large harpy eyed him warily as it stepped forward. Harpies do not often attack humans; when provoked, however, they can make quick work of light armor and careless adventurers. Cayman needed to confirm his suspicions about the tree, and stood is ground, kneeling and setting down his bag. Among the forty or so bear asses and all the potions he’d definitely need some day was a bit of meat that, to his knowledge, had never gone bad; it didn’t smell like it had, anyway.

He took a chunk of the mystery meat and tossed it toward the big bird – she snatched it from the air with one deft flick of her deadly talons. She kept her eyes on him as she sniffed at his offering before loudly gobbling it down; she chirped at her allies and they approached, looking to Cayman expectantly as he tore off another chunk. Soon, they were within arm’s length as he fed them scraps of old, uneaten meals finally allowing him to pass as they noisily chewed on dried fish, hog’s flesh and a large, nondescript flank that certainly was not from a large, angry bird. Glad to have some weight off his shoulders, he stepped toward the tree – a low, distinct grumbling reached his ears as the whelp stepped in front or him. Her feathers weren’t as dark as the others while her eyes were much larger and her mouth a bit wider. She was not part of this flock, though they watched the standoff with bemusement through mouthfuls of food.

The harpy clicked her talons as she waited for the wanderer to make his move. As he searched for more food to throw out, he realized just how much he gave out to the others while their mocking laughter sounded out behind him. He looked to their leader, nodding toward the oddball; the big bird looked back with a smug grin before resuming her feast. All Cayman had left for his journey up and back were a few strips of dry, salted meat. He sighed in frustration as he took one out, only to have it snatched away by the wide-eyed whelp as she fluttered away, keeping her eyes on him as she nibbled at her snack. His advance was again blocked by the harpy as she wolfed down the jerky and scrabbled over for more. He held out one more piece and held tight when her jaw snapped shut – she kicked and flapped her wings furiously as she tried to tear the scrap away, coming away with only a small bite. Cayman ate the rest of it as she shrieked after him.

Cayman did not like what he saw as he approached the tree. It would have been a relief if the only evils present had just been the risk of dehydration and the lurking desert-things; even the nagging harpies had become a welcome sight. Many of the things lying near the cracking crevice were covered in a fine sand or had been looted by other guests of the mountain as evidence of how long ago they were cast aside, though many things become weathered and worn on the road. You can tell a lot about an adventurer by the condition of their gear; a split shield might not mean much to any armsman, but it makes for a great story by the fire. He gave the thing a hard yank, tearing it free from the deep split where it was lodged. The blood had long dried in the wind and heat of the place, but the scrap of fabric was an undeniably familiar red.

The wanderer squeezed his way through the crevasse, heckled all the way by his new entourage as they waited for a piece of him to snag on the narrow path or be rendered immobile as he stubbornly carried his arms and bags through passage. He’d known magi who would simply blink through a place like this only to get caught inside a wall and slowly asphyxiate in their rush to get ahead. A warrior he’d known quite well had an intense fear of close spaces and had once pried open a wall deep within some crumbling ruin in an attempt to escape; the hundreds of eggs on the other side had burst open from the disturbance, and despite the value of his gear, nobody wanted to deal with that many spiders. Not even En’Toh the arachnomancer.

His thoughts were interrupted by something falling on his head – if it was what he thought it might be, he’d be killing those harpies after all. Instead, all it was was a few pebbles coming loose from the rocks above him as the flock squabbled over the last bit of hambone they hadn’t already devoured. He had wanted to take his time in the crag to steady his nerves for whatever horror awaited him at the top of Shadow Mountain, but getting through as quickly as he could became a sudden priority. He pulled and shuffled as fast as his load would allow. The shield he’d bought in town suddenly became unimportant along with those travel books he’d already read a few dozen times. That firewood? He could get more. A bit of this and a bit of that was casually left behind as the boulders above groaned as they were shaken loose and began rolling his way.

The spot where he once stood was no more as rock the size of a small cottage crushed his discarded, the scream of a split shield disappearing beneath solid stone. Cayman was awash in cold sweat and laughed nervously as he struggled to pull his eyes away from where he’d been just a few seconds earlier. It’d make a hell of a story when he made it back to town. His goal was in sight as a warm wind washed over him from just around the next bend in the path; he even had enough space to walk forward instead of shimmying to the side. A large stone came crashing down next to him, nearly taking off his shoulder. It was followed by several more as the path behind him vanished beneath dust and rocks, sealing off his only exit as he scampered out of the accursed crag.

He threw himself onto the soft grass atop Shadow Mountain, shaking off any debris as he thrashed about in the open air, glad to be out of such a confined area. The harpies landed nearby – the young, strange one swooping overhead before landing safely behind her sisters. He glared at the flock before rising to his feet and was nearly knocked back on his rear by a sudden, hideous aroma; the unmistakable stench of rot was overwhelming as he doubled over with a shuddering, racking cough. He brushed the stinging tears from his eyes as they went wide – atop Shadow Mountain in the clearing where he now found himself was littered with corpses.

Bodies new and old lay twisted and stretched before him as far as his watering eyes could see. Adventurers who had gone missing, fresh-faced as ever despite the ghastly expressions of terror twisting their handsome features into a mask so frightening it made the wanderer’s breath catch in his throat. Those who had come before lay open, their insides on the outside with much of the flesh stripped by the harsh desert winds and most of the body carefully picked apart by whatever scavengers had been in the area. Normally, the harpies would’ve begun feasting and tearing off trinkets then and there, but the sight was so jarring even the bratty pack of pests beside him were heavy with silence as they huddled together.

Cayman did not want to spend another moment in this place, but he had come for a reason. Two reasons, now that he held the scrap of red cloth so tightly to his chest. One of the harpies tugged at his pantleg as he resolved to move forward, her low rumblings expressing a reluctance he found himself sharing. Someone had to navigate this sea of corpses eventually, and he had a job to do. The harpies nervously trotted alongside him as he set out, a few were brave enough to spread their wings and make a short pass over the bodies as the wanderer looked them over one by one, prodding them with his foot. Then there came a sound. It was a sound so terrible it shook him to his very core – a deep, foreboding cry of some great and terrible trumpet that split the heavens and made the sky shudder. A shadow began creeping over the walls, and Cayman drew his sword. Death had come to Shadow Mountain.

It had come and gone in an instant; the shadow passed over the mountain as quickly as it came, and in its wake lingered the stench of death. The wanderer had felt fear root him to the spot as the shadow crept closer before finally washing over him, leaving him in the inky blackness of the void. Then, as it went out like the tide, the color suddenly returned to this place; the sunlight had soured in the presence of the shadow, for such an evil made the heavens themselves avert their gaze. The grass and the clouds and the sky all shook in the stiff breeze accompanying the shade, still shuddering at its passing as the last of the blackness was sucked beneath the rocks and the sand. The wanderer was shocked at the sudden return of breath to his lungs and the harpies furiously beat their wings in an attempt to shake off the worry that clung to their feathers.

Cayman saw in the distance what had drawn him to the mountain – a body, remarkably fresh for how long it had been missing. She had been a famed explorer and researcher, drawn inexplicably to the many forbidden places of the world despite the warnings of others. She was young than him by nearly nearly a decade, but had already become an accomplished adventurer who had seen much of the world and had won the respect of many academics; she slept peacefully beneath the only leafy tree Cayman had seen since he began his blasted journey to this accursed mountaintop. He bowed his head in a moment of silence, but as he opened his eyes, something felt amiss. It felt too easy – what had been that wicked shadow that had crossed this place, and why was she, of all morbid corpses, so pristine? He took a nervous step forward only to find that something was clinging to his foot, and looked down to see a familiar shade of red.

The sword came down out of reflex, not caring whether or not the thing holding so tightly to him had been alive, and jumped back. His harpy entourage despaired with him as the thing continued to move even after its arm had been severed; as the creature arose, the friendly red bandanna went slack and fell away. The distorted parody of a face stared at him with a blank, hollow expression a shadow seeped out from a swinging jaw and peeked at him through a ragged hole in its chest. Cayman swung his weapon before the thing could raise its own and watched as the body crumpled the ground, decaying rapidly before vanishing into the same curious sands scattered throughout the desert.

A harpy cried out as something clutched at its tail and dragged it to the ground. A body had risen, pulling loose of the blade that pinned it to the earth as it clawed its way on top of the helpless avian and raised a gnarled, bony hand. A stone crushed its skull as one the bird’s sisters flew overhead, squawking triumphantly until it was felled by an arrow – one fired from another of the decrepit cadavers. Several of the things fell upon her when she hit the ground, her cries ghoulishly cut short as she was reduced to nothing by the hungry corpses. Harpies were not dull beings, and the leader among them shrieked out a warning to the rest of the panicking flock that just flying away was not an option and made a low, quick dive for one of the undead’s weapons as it fell. The others, eager to avenge their sister, joined the fray as well.

The unliving were not something Cayman hadn’t dealt with before. Most of the time they had been cursed or revived in some ritual gone awry; there were plenty of amateur healers who had carelessly attempted to bring back a dead friend or relative for a quick bit of gold. The world could learn a lot from the north’s treatment of rogue magi.

The wanderer clenched his teeth as the things fell around him, avoiding most of their clumsy swings and shrugging off the few lucky swipes that managed to land. A harpy had saved him from a vicious blow from behind as a set of teeth fastened around his arm; they were cold – gods, were they cold – and he was taken down, dropping his weapon as the thing went down with him. He fell at a practiced angle, reaching into one of his pouches to wind a scroll around the arm that wasn’t fending off a shade-belching body and thrust it forward – the thing howled as flames engulfed it and disintegrated before it finished tumbling off.

His arm was on fire – he’d deal with it. Some harpies has fallen defending themselves – he’d deal with them, too. What he couldn’t deal with was the shaking as something drew close and peered over the jagged rocks, a shadow slithering down it’s curled lips. It cried out: _Eegah!_

The shape came lumbering out from what the wanderer had thought to be a pit and began its advance, slavering wildly as it raised a fallen log in one massive hand. The pale, twisting filth stood nearly eight feet tall as the shadows writhing within jerked it about, struggling to articulate the man-beast’s powerful limbs  as the tangled mess of hair parted to reveal a snarling face with each swaying motion. Much of the remaining dead were trampled and crushed by the thing’s approach or broken on the rocks after being effortlessly cast aside by a mighty arm. The harpies saw their chance to escape as the sea of bodies was broken and fled – all but the small brown one and large black one. She called for her flock to return, but t heir numbers had dwindled significantly during the fight. She perched upon a sword and braced herself.

The giant prepared to bring down his club until Cayman flung the fire from his arm towards the beast’s face; it raised a hand to shield its eyes and left itself open to the black harpy’s attack. She sailed around the creature, cutting into its leg and carving into its side before sinking her blade into its throat while the brown bird tore at the fingers gripping its weapon. The trio stood triumphant as the thing fell, only to  cry out as something burst out from the thing – something began to seep out of the monster’s wounds. The beast stood up, pulling free from its twisted leg as the darkness oozing from its wounds solidified; the ragged seam the black harpy had cut into the thing’s sides split open and its head fell back as the shadows burst forth from the tear in its throat.

Another ball of fire made the thing hiss, then roar as it barreled forward with a twisted, shadowy limb outstretched. The wanderer sank his blade deep into the giant’s palm as it scooped him up, though as he worked to sever the hand, more and more tendrils of foul blackness slithered out to meet him. The harpies assailed the thing with falling rocks and knives before the braver bird tried again to pit her speed against the brute’s strength. She clutched a blade and flew high; she looked at the swiveling head swaying loosely and lamely on the thing’s shoulders as its body twisted and shuddered with every forced, unnatural movement.  She dived straight down, splitting the creature down the middle with a well-placed blow.

Cayman fell on his shoulder with a pained grunt as he pulled free of the shadows clinging to him. The darkness dissipated in the strange light of Shadow Mountain, leaving only the broken limb of the giant to rot as the creature dropped to its knees. The split had cleaved the beast’s body in two, but somehow the blasted thing was not finished. The black harpy was stunned that the thing could’ve survived such a gruesome attack and did not see that pieces of it had wrapped around her weapon and were quickly climbing up to meet her. The shadows burned hotter than anything she’d felt as they surrounded her, pulling her into the cleft maw of the hideous, writhing mass.

The brown harpy screamed as her ally disappeared without a trace and the shadows pulled free from the confines of the carcass it took shelter in, leaving it to disintegrate with the rest of the bodies as it lurched forward. The sands scattered about stuck to the pitch black mass causing the thing to swell as it was shielded from the sunlight  as it reached for the remaining harpy, her frantic flapping and barrage of debris doing little to dissuade it.  A desperate notion came to Cayman’s mind as he produced two more scrolls, winding them together and hurling them toward the monster before it had a chance to devour his only remaining ally – a brilliant flash of fire and lightning scorched the thing, and it shrieked terribly as the sands across its body turned to glass.

The monster writhed as shards from the sheet of glass coming loose and tearing it to shreds as the harpy cannonballed her way through a fresh opening leaving behind her own discovery – several pages of a spellbook that she had torn loose from the bag lying near Cayman’s quarry. They fluttered gently in the breeze, landing gently amidst the creature’s many pieces before a powerful blast shook the whole of Shadow Mountain. The wanderer was thrown to the ground by the blast, as well as a desire to avoid the storm of shards blown his way, and found the brown harpy tumbling into his arms.  The blast had crippled one of her legs and jarred her light body significantly; a few bits of glass slipped out from between her feathers, followed by a few trickles of blood as she smiled weakly. Cayman cradled her as he sat up, rising to a knee and clutching his sword.

The shadows struggled in the sunlight with many sputtering away pitifully, leaving behind nothing but a bit of ash to be picked up by the breeze. Cayman wanted to smile – he wanted nothing more than to take comfort in knowing there was one less evil in the world more than anything at the moment – but some of the things picked themselves up as a cloud passed overhead. There were five, maybe six, then a seventh and an eighth. A ninth rose up, coating itself in the absorbing sands of Shadow Mountain that had been left behind by the crumbling, hollow corpses. Several more followed suit, finding the audacity to produce the weapons of the fallen as they encircled the wanderer and his fallen angel.

Cayman sighed, exhausted.  He had a few options: stand there, swing his sword and die along with the thirty-five pound half-person in his arms; run for the book of magic and to see if anything in there wouldn’t split these things up even more; or – and this was his favorite – head for the cavern the giant had lumbered out of, search for an exit, and die with his back to the wall. His shoulders drooped, but he held his weapon and grit his teeth.

“Alright,” he grunted at the looming shadows, “come and get me.”

The beings obliged, surging forward all at once with surprising speed. Cayman held the harpy to his chest and yelled fiercely as he swung his blade – coming to a pause as the sky split itself open. A sound echoed across the desert that nearly deafened him as four heavenly bodies crashed into the battlefield – the creatures were torn apart again and again as tempered steel cut through them like a blade in the water, splattering their sizzling remains across the sands. A bolt of light that seared the air before him crashed into one of the things, arcing to several others and causing them all to go up in flames. The final shade rose up in defiance, swelling to such a size it threatened to engulf the mountaintop, and was split apart by a thunderous blow.

The shadows were gone – their remains bubbling over in the radiance the fearsome four had brought with the m. They were tall and proud – narrow-bodied like an elf, but powerfully built. They fought with a practiced, honed ferocity like the orcs and moved gracefully as they sized him up, their large, dark eyes carefully examining the wanderer’s features. One stepped forward, a click of her talons commanding the others to lower their swords and spears  as her eyes fell on the harpy he held so close. An arm reached out – it was pale, its hands scaled and clawed with beautiful feathers melded into pale flesh. He handed the girl over without a word and carefully sheathed his sword as the others rushed over to take her from their leader.

The  woman scowled at him, puffing out her chest as she narrowed her eyes. “Human,” she uttered, stepping in front of the sunlight, “this is no place for the weak.” She examined glanced at his scorched arm and the tears in his clothing; the dents and scratches in his armor and the cuts in his flesh. “ Y et, you held your ground. Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” Cayman took a shaky breath as he dared to relax, “ Thanks for the save.”

“We did not come for you, boy.” Her expression soured as she cast a glance at the silky sands salting the earth; “Evil has come to this place, brought here by your kind, as usual.” She raised an arm towards the peaceful body of the missing researcher, ruffling her feathers. “ She will be destroyed so no more of you foolish adventurers stumble into her trap.”

The wanderer didn’t have a problem with that if it stopped whatever had just happened from happening again, but he had come here for a reason.

“I’ll need something to bring back;” he shrugged at the scowling vaalk, despite their threatening movements; “a signet, a ring – her head – something to let people know I found her.” He was too tired to grin properly, but did his best; “Otherwise, people are going to keep looking.”

The head vaalk scoffed as one of her companions plucked the ring from the girl’s finger, tossing it to the hand of the wanderer. He bowed his head, truly grateful to his rescuers and in awe that he was seeing them so close; the fact that he’d seen them in action would’ve excited him beyond belief, but he was so exhausted from it all. He expressed as much as he made his exit and began the long walk back to town.

The wanderer returned to the surprise of the townsfolk. They had seen the shadow sliding up the mountain and watched the sky split open in a brilliant flash of sound and fury. They had questions, questions the wanderer did not want to answer. He trudged to the inn and fell into the first bed he saw, regardless of who was there first. He paid for everything in the morning; the room, the board, a place to store dozens of spare equipment and several dozen potions he swore would come in handy someday and left on the first beast-drawn cart out of Yesseno. Southenbeck had once again proven to be a wild, unpredictable place where truly anything could happen, and he was looking forward to making the place a memory as the wooden wheels clattered along the worn and rocky road.

“So,” called the driver, peering over his shoulder, “how was it? Shadow Mountain, that is?”  
Cayman narrowed his weary eyes the man under the wide-brimmed hat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The driver chuckled, breaking into a fit of coughs before returning to the conversation. “Not many people do, nowadays. Figure you got what you came for, seeing as you ain’t dead, sir.” He turned back to the road, a small smile hiding beneath his bristly mustache; “Got a feelin’ you won’t be coming back anytime soon, huh? That’s fine. You oughta stay closer to the border next time; lot more for outsiders like you then out here in the desert.”

Cayman groaned at the prospect of listening to the cabbie jabber on for the rest of the trip home, but something made the lumbaarg pulling the cart come to a sudden stop. It snorted impatiently at the obstacle as it bounced a rock off one of the cartwheels before hopping alongside it.

“Hey, shoo!” The driver waved his arm at the little brown pest; “Get outta here before my beast stomps you flat!”

The harpy shrieked at him as the burly man as harpies often do and hopped into the cart, her wings knocking the hat from his head. He caught it in a worn, calloused hand before it hit the ground and turned to grab the bird before the wander raised a hand.

“...you sure about that, sir?” He sat back down; “Filthy thing’s probably been eating dead animals.”

“It’s fine.”

Cayman let the bird settle in his lap after plucking a few of the larger insects out of her feathers – she ate them up and stretched her wings so he could admire the vaalk’s handiwork; her wounds were miraculously gone, with a brilliant white feather tucked between her own. She dropped something into his hand; an odd, speckled stone that was undoubtedly foreign, even in strange Southenbeck. He put it in his pouch and pulled out a hunk of roast beast he’d held onto since last winter to share the rest of the way home. The wanderer had a lot to think about, more importantly a lot to say when he made it back to Eastenden; many people would want to hear about the dark happenings of Shadow Mountain, the giant early man he had encountered among the piles of bodies and his run-in with the vaalk.

For now, the mountain would lay dormant and in time the death that had come to it would be forgotten. Rumors of the supernatural would never cease in attracting attention from the outside world and the many mysteries of Southenbeck would lure many visitors into the unknown. What the wanderer found exactly, he would not say; only that the scholar he had been sent after had long since left this world, making the cause of her passing impossible to know. He did not speak of the harpies or the horrors, nor of the valorous vaalk or the darkness that nearly consumed him. He put the day’s events out of his mind as he journeyed to the west, in search of ruins to explore and crypts to clear out. But for now, the world would forget about the death that had come to Shadow Mountain.


End file.
